the masked heroes
by TingedAutumn
Summary: because nothing says 'hot and bothered' quite like botched vigilante justice.


**A/N: **so it turns out i wrote this story TWO YEARS AGO for kataang week 2012 and posted it on my tumblr, but somehow forgot to upload it here? i figured i owed everyone a really badly written smut to make up for being so lax lately. hopefully this will tide you over until i publish something i've been working on for a while. as always, critque is welcome, and i hope you enjoy! ~_TA_

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Katara is beginning to suspect that she's spending more time out of her clothes on these missions than in them, but she can't bring herself to mind, just yet.

She especially can't bring herself to mind when Aang's hand is sliding up her thigh, breath hot on her skin, lips pressing feverent kisses, higher and higher, until her head knocks against the rough stone floor and she has to bite down on her hand to stifle the cries of pleasure he is wrenching out of her, with every quick and nimble flick of his tongue.

The world isn't perfect, although it's not for lack of trying. There's still so much to do, to fight, to struggle against. The crimes of a hundred years cannot be fixed in a few days; it will take time, and patience, and hope.

Occasionally, it takes two masked figures doling out vigilante justice, but the world doesn't need to know that part, just yet.

It was Katara's idea, to be fair. The devastation around her was more than she could bear, and before long, the Painted Lady was making her reappearance. She had convinced Aang to come along for the ride, although he had refused to dress up for the part ("I think glowing arrows and the powers of a thousand Avatars before me will do the same thing,"). And then they had been off, sneaking into the night to find lawbreakers and bad guys and people of shady dealings, ready to make the world a better place.

The intent had not been to end up having sex in various sundry places to celebrate the vigilante justice, but considering all the knocks they take along the way, Katara feels it's well deserved.

Like tonight. Tonight, they came very close to not coming back at all, and there's a sense of desperation in the air when they finally escape, heading South, as far away from the fight as they can get. Aang looks like he'd like to break mountains apart with his bare hands by the time he draws to a stop, but Katara knows his temper is not reserved for her. If anything, she's as angry as he is.

"That was too close," Aang swore, tossing his glider to the ground and glaring at her. "That was too close. Did you see that guy with the sword? It was a flaming sword! And it was about an inch away from your neck when -"

"I saw the sword!" Katara snapped back, fists clenched and glaring right back. "But I was a little preoccupied from keeping you from being crushed by fifty tonnes of rock -"

"- Which was while I was preventing you from getting burned to a crisp -"

"- Because I was too busy stopping that firebender from stabbing you through the gut!"

Her last word ends on a shout, and the two face each other, glaring daggers, before the shoulders slouch, the tension slips away, leaving only weariness and relief in its wake. Aang held out his hand, a silent peace offering, pulling Katara into his chest when she grasps it.

"It was too close, Katara," He murmured into her hair, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. "I almost lost you, tonight."

"You'd have to do better than that to get rid of me. Aang, I've seen you die once. If I have to see it again, I'll go insane."

He pulled away, slightly, holding her out so that he could meet her gaze, and she could see the storm in those grey eyes of his. "This has to stop," He told her, quite seriously. "It was good, for a time … Spirits, it was even kind of fun. But we can't fight every bad guy in the world by ourselves in the middle of the night. It's just not practical."

Katara slumped slightly in his arms, giving a little sigh. "You're right. Of course you're right. Shame about the dress, though, I was started to get pretty attached —"

Aang had just said, "I'm pretty fond, too," before the material had been ripped away and she had been swallowed up by his kiss. Which brought them back to the rough, rocky shore.

Her fingers are scrabbling for purchase on the beach, but finding none; Aang's mouth is moving slowly, languorously against her thigh, and she wants to scream with impatience. It's only when Aang blows softly against her moist curls, causing her to arch her back sharply, and then resume kissing down her legs, that Katara has enough. Her hand grips the sash holding his robe in place, and pulls sharply, bringing Aang back up to eye-level.

"If you do not finish what you started in the next thirty seconds, Aang, I swear, I am going to kill you."

"Pretty violent for a peaceful village spirit, aren't you?" Aang had remarked with a grin, but then his tongue was on her slit, and Katara wasn't really sure what her own name was anymore.

Her hands flew up, covering her mouth to hold back the delighted cry as Aang slid his tongue against her core, just _barely_ tracing her folds, dipping in to swirl around her bundle of nerves before moving on again. It was a slow fire building into an inferno and Katara thought she was close to exploding: the feel of Aang's tongue, moving with slow, steady purpose, was enough to drive her mad. Sensing her predicament, Aang slid his tongue in further, tasting Katara fully before pressing a light kiss to her nerves that nearly had her wailing: his enjoyment at her delight was obvious.

Katara was writhing, her breathing coming faster and faster, and she was holding in her screams by just the barest amount. He wanted to hear her scream — frankly, he wanted to hear his name, tumbling from her lips, never mind the risk it would create.

"Aang -!" Katara whimpered, fingers digging into the back of his head, struggling desperately to hold on.

He raised his head, just a few inches. "Say it, Katara. I need to hear you say it."

"P-please … oh, Spirits, oh … I love you, I love you, Aang please -"

And then she was babbling incoherently, cries of pleasure and his name and declarations of love tumbling from her lips, chest heaving, heart hammering, blind, deaf and dumb to anything but the man who was lifting his head from between her legs and smiling.

"I h-hate it when you t-tease me like that," She panted, once the ground had stopped shaking somewhat. Her hand was pulling on his robes, tossing fabric aside so that she could feel the skin of his chest, trace the ink of his arrows. Aang chuckled.

"No, you don't."

Her hand was gripping his cock, pumping a steady rhythm that effectively wiped the smirk off of his face. "No, I don't." She agreed.


End file.
